


𝐋𝐚 𝐃𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐮𝐫 𝐄𝐱𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞

by goobsgammygimp



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Depression, Dissociation, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Murder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Self-Harm, Sex, Suicide Attempt, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28012944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goobsgammygimp/pseuds/goobsgammygimp
Summary: (𝐧.) 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐰𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞.originally posted on Wattpad @goobsgammygimp
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Reader, The BAU Team & Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	1. 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐞

⚠️ **Warning** ⚠️  
 **mentions of suicide along with suicidal thoughts.**  
  
  


He knew something was wrong. He could feel it. He mentally cursed himself for leaving y/n alone, after what they'd just gone through. He just hoped he'd arrive to find his best friend sitting on the couch reading yet another lengthy novel or watching 'Law and Order: SVU' for the millionth time. They liked to joke that they were the 'Olivia Benson' of the team.   
  
Beads of sweat rolled down his face as he rushed towards the elevator. His fingers violently smashed against the buttons in frustration, dread filling his entire being.   
  
"Fuck it," Spencer mumbled, eyeing the door that led to the stairwell.   
  
He moved quickly, taking large steps to keep his pace. His feet carried him up to the sixth floor, where y/n's apartment was. His breath was shaky, chest heaving as he approached their front door.   
  
He reached for the spare key y/n insisted he had, just in case they'd lost theirs yet again. He rammed the key inside the lock before shoving the door open.   
  
His eyes widened at the sight of y/n's living room; books scattered across the floor, the glass coffee table overturned— the couch torn to shreds, a kitchen knife stuck in one of the arms.   
  
"Y/n?" He shouted worriedly, remembering the last time he entered a scene similar to this one.   
  
Spencer shut the door behind him, venturing further into the apartment. He approached the bedroom, the interior looking like that of a war zone. He paused, praying that he wasn't reliving this moment a second time.   
  
The faint sound of running water pulled him from his daze. He furrowed his brows, scanning the room. His eyes caught the sight of water seeping into the carpet of the bedroom.  
  
"Oh shit, shit, shit." He scrambled.   
  
Before he knew it, he was slamming his lanky body into the door, trying with all his might to pull off his best Derek Morgan impersonation and break it down. After three more thrusts, he was successful, giant pieces of wood skidding across the wet floor.   
  
Blood, lacing the edge of the clawfoot tub, a crimson-stained razor resting in the soap dish. The poor doctor stood as still as a victim of Medusa, staring tearfully at the harrowing sight before him.   
  
He reached into the tub, pulling y/n's head up from the water.   
  
"Hey, hey," he grabbed y/n's face moving it from side to side. He moved his grip to the sides of y/n's arms, repositioning their body.   
  
Spencer shook y/n violently. The now pink-tinted bath water splashed over the sides of the tub.   
  
Bloody water dripped down y/n's body as Spencer dragged them out of the bathtub.   
  
"Please, you cannot die," He sobbed over y/n's limp body.   
  
He frantically yanked the decorative towels from their rods, placing them on y/n's bleeding wrists. He crawled to y/n's cabinet, broken pieces of wood digging into the fabric of his pants. He rifled through it in search of a first aid kit, y/n's only hope. He finally found it, after what felt like hours had passed.   
  
Slamming it down beside y/n's head, the contents flew out, making Spencer scramble to get them back. He collected the contents and crawled back over to the wet naked body of his dying friend.   
  
"Son of a bitch," He cursed as the gauze fell out of his trembling hands.   
  
Spencer removed the blood-stained towels from y/n's arms and replaced them with a gauze wrap. He blew out a shaky breath as he went to check y/n's pulse.   
  
It was faint. Just barely there.   
  
He grabbed a towel from off the sink, draping it over y/n's vulnerable body. He placed two hands on their chest and began to pump; at as steady a pace as he could muster.   
  
"Come on, come on, please y/n, you're the only one I have left," he mumbled softly before placing his lips on y/n's to push air back into their lungs.   
  
He removed his lips from theirs and restarted chest compressions, slowly getting more and more agitated. He pushed down on y/n's chest once more, this time with extra force.   
  
Bloody water pooled out of y/n's mouth like a fountain; as they twisted and turned on the soaked bathroom floor, fresh blood smearing around the tile as y/n writhed around.   
  
Relief washed over Dr. Spencer Reid while he watched his friend's skin fade from grey.   
  
"No," y/n shook their head frantically.   
  
"No, why am I still alive? I'm supposed to be dead. Why didn't you let me die?" Y/n blubbered, hugging their knees to their chest.   
  
"You should've let me die. Why did you save me- why didn't you just let me die?" They broke down. 


	2. I

_Her cold, lifeless body laid sprawled out on the stainless steel table. Clothing, torn apart, drenched in blood. The small and large intestine both dangling off the edge of the table, swinging back and forth like a pendulum._  
  
 _He whistled, slapping her freshly cut slabs of flesh down into the plastic tub beside him. Blood dripped from his gloved fingers like a leaky faucet. He picked up the full tub and walked further into the plastic sheet-divided room._  
  
 _"You're going to be the house special," he whispered, placing the tub next to the four sets of frozen limbs that hung on the meat hooks._  
...   
  
You stirred in bed, the unabating buzzing of your phone waking you. You tapped your hand around the bedside table, searching for it. Finally finding the phone, you picked it up and put it to your ear.   
  
"Hello?" You groaned, still partly asleep. The buzzing continued near your ear. You sighed as you sat up in the bed.   
  
"I didn't even accept the fucking- hello?" You cut yourself off, actually accepting the call.   
  
"Case time y/n." You heard Garcia's voice through the phone.   
  
You huffed, squinting at the digital clock that sat across the room. 12:35 am, it read. Hanging up the phone, you quickly got yourself out of bed.   
  
Getting a sudden burst of energy, you flung yourself into the shower and got dressed immediately after.   
  
After getting dressed, you wrote a quick note out to your girlfriend. You placed the letter on your pillow and walked out, grabbing your go bag as you did.   
  
You twirled your car keys in your hand as you jogged down to your car. You sped off towards the office and got there in under two minutes.   
  
You walked inside and scanned your ID badge, greeting the security guards as you walked by them. You reached the elevator and pressed the floor for the BAU.   
  
You'd been working there for around five years now. The unit chief Aaron Hotchner had personally recruited you right after you had gotten your sixth Ph.D. He said you had the most impressive resume that he had ever seen, more impressive than Dr. Reid's. Which honestly is the best compliment anyone could receive, considering you were two years younger than him. You were initially hesitant about taking the job, but seeing as teaching wasn't interesting to you anymore, you accepted the position.   
  
*(Listen, the timeline is so fucked. Don't even question anything just go with the flow) *   
  
"Good morning y/n," you heard as you pushed through the glass doors. The office was empty. The only other person there besides you was Spencer. He was sitting at his desk with his feet up, engulfed in a book.   
  
"Morning Spencie," you yawned, walking over to your desk. You threw your go-bag underneath the desk and plopped down in your seat, rubbing your face. 

"No sleep?" he asked, placing the book down.   
  
"I barely got 30 minutes. Nadia and I went out last night, god, worst mistake of my life," you groaned, putting your head down on the table.   
  
"Oh," you heard him say. You could almost picture his little nod and that stupid adorable innocent smile plastered on his face.   
  
You laughed as you picked your head back up. You were feeling more awake now. From your peripheral, you could see Garcia walking into the conference room.   
  
"Wait, why are you laughing?" He asked, looking confused.   
  
You laughed at the look on his face, "come on Reid."   
  
Both of you made your way into the conference room. Taking seats next to each other as the rest of your colleagues poured into the room. You opened the case file and flipped through the information.   
  
"Alright, so brace yourselves, my meat-eating friends, this one's a doozy. Meet Maggie Daens, 19, of El Paso, Texas. About two days ago, she was reported missing by her roommate, Stella. Yesterday, some beachgoers found her head, organs, and skeletal remains; when they washed up on shore, in a garbage bag." Garcia grimaced as the words escaped her mouth.  
  
"Skeletal remains? I thought she'd only been missing for two days?" You questioned.  
  
She pulled up the case file images on the monitor. Your eyes shifted between the images, mouth salivating in disgust and horror. The victim's entire torso was stripped of flesh, organs not even protected by bone. There was the dismemberment of the arms and legs. Her chest cavity was wide open, breasts split and spread like a butterfly. The entirety of her ribcage was gone, displaying the absence of her heart, liver, and kidneys.   
  
"She's the fourth victim in two weeks, why are we just now getting called in?" You ask, skimming through the information of the previous victims.   
  
"Well, the other victims were all found off of three separate hiking trails in the Gila National Forest, so they assumed it was a mountain lion or coyote attack," Garcia explained pulling up images of the other victims.   
  
“They actually looked at the crime scenes and came to the explicit conclusion that these were animal attacks?” You were riddled with bewilderment.  
  
"There are no ligature marks, nor any head trauma, how did the unsub subdue them?" Morgan asked, flipping through the pages.   


"Possibly a blitz attack, tox-screen came back negative for any sedatives. The coroner's report says that the initial cause of death for all the victims was a stab wound to the abdomen." Emily answered, putting the case file down.   
  
"Garcia," Hotch nodded his head towards the door. Garcia sighed in relief scurrying out of the room.   
  
"There's something else you guys need to see," Hotch started as soon as Garcia left the room. He used the remote for the monitor and pulled up a separate image.   
  
"Are those bite marks?" You gasp, leaning forward in your seat.   
  
"That's interesting, you know while human teeth can pierce flesh, it is difficult, next to nearly impossible to bite through muscle tissue. And considering that all the victims were extremely fit, the unsub must've had to go through a lot of work to break through even a percentage of their muscle tissue," Spencer spewed out facts.   
  
"The average bite pressure is in the range of 2840 to 4270 psi. While the bite force itself averages out to about 117 to 265 pounds, the pressure remains constant at about 5600 psi which is more than enough to puncture a piece of lightweight sheet metal. But you are right it's still not enough to bite through even one percent of their muscle tissue." You added on still studying the crime scene photos.   
  
"Alright, you know the drill. Wheels up in 10," Hotch nodded at us before walking out of the room   
  
—   
  
You sighed analyzing the body that laid on the slab.   
  
"There are bite marks all over the remaining bone like the unsub was trying to... not let any meat go to waste," You cringed at the words as they came out of your mouth.   
  
"Here you go," the M.E walked in handing Spencer a copy of the report.   
  
He mumbled a quick thanks immediately opening the file. His beautifully toned hands danced across the pages as he read, taking in all the information.   
  
"Do you know what was used to...carve her?" You asked, still unable to tear your gaze from the corpse.   
  
"Most likely a butcher's knife or something of that caliber, I can't explicitly tell. But what I can tell you is that these cuts were made by someone with extensive knowledge of anatomy. The cuts are clean and precise, you can tell by the striation marks left on the bone." The medical examiner, Dr. Rubat explained.   
  
"Um, did you find any saliva in the bite marks?" Spencer asked, still engulfed in the file. 

"Yeah, about the bite marks, they were made by a canine. Judging solely based on the space between teeth and the size of the indentation marks, I'd say you're looking for a Labrador or Golden Retriever. " Dr. Rubat said.   
  
You nodded your head finally looking away from the body.   
  
"Ok thank you, Let's go Spence." You walked out without another word, feeling icky about the whole situation.   
  
"You okay y/n?" Spencer asked, placing his arm around your shoulder.   
  
"Yeah uh, this case is just— it's just bringing back up the whole Tracy Lambert thing, I'm fine though," you looked up at him with a small smile.   
  
You were like pudding under his touch. The part of your shoulder where his hand rested felt like it was on fire. The smell of his cologne wafted through your nostrils as a sudden breeze kicked up. He smelled like an old library in Autumn and a hint of cinnamon. Pure happiness.   
  
You realized your closeness and cleared your throat awkwardly.   
  
You slither out of his grasp and walk around to the driver's side of the car. Spencer follows suit, sliding into the passenger seat. As soon he closes the door you speed off towards the police station where you all had set up.   
  
—   
  
_He stood frozen in the middle of the sidewalk, watching y/n and Spencer stand outside the morgue. He was enthralled by y/n's beauty, their y/h/c hair, their smooth y/s/c skin. Gorgeous. He had to have her, not as a snack. But as a trophy, a prize. His own little personal doll..._  
  
  



End file.
